Machine and Me
by Phantasmagor1a
Summary: A man and his robot girlfriend.


I pick a screwdriver out of my toolkit and begin rubbing the tip of it with a damp cloth. She turns her head to the side to look at what I'm doing, her expression questioning.

"Won't it rust?" she enquires.

"I bought new ones," I reply, smiling, "Stainless steel. Only the best."

She grins back at me and turns her head to look forward again, leaning it on the headrest behind her.

"Thank you," she says. I put the cloth away, happy that she is, and beckon for her to hold up her arm. She does. I poke a small torchlight in the space between her wrist and arm to look for the screw I need to replace. I'd just replaced it last week and god knows what she's been doing but I need to replace it again.

"Why don't you just leave me as scrap metal and go on with your life?" she asks, looking at me again as I put the screw I'd just taken out aside. I don't look at her as I answer. I'd get this question from her almost every day and I'd always tell her the same thing.

"Because without you I wouldn't have one."

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back in exasperation. I let go of her wrist to look for a replacement screw and her hand flops down beside her helplessly. She sighs.

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me feel like such an idiot because I can't do anything for you," she whines. I say nothing. I'd learnt not to take her seriously when she was in one of her hissy fits over why I should date a normal girl. I'd just say and do nothing.

"Go find a normal girl. With real parents and real friends," she continues.

"You have friends," I reply.

"The dishwasher is not my friend," she laughs, hitting me on the head with her free hand. I try to duck, laughing.

"I've seen you two talking."

She turns to look at me again, a genuine smile on her face.

"You were watching me?" she asks. It won't be any use hiding.

"Yes. Problem?"

"Well, if you must know, I was telling it off for not cleaning the dishes well enough. I had to dip all of them in hot water before I put them in the cupboard," she replies haughtily, turning her face away. I finish fixing the screw in her wrist and let her hand go. She holds it up to her eyes to examine the screw.

"I liked the other one better, it fit in with the other parts more," she said. I damned whoever invented machines with emotions. Then I remember that she could never love me back if they didn't.

"In what way?"

"Like, the other parts are darker. This one's all bright and shiny."

"That's because it's new, love," I said.

I also damned whoever said robots were all geniuses. She was smart, but I wouldn't call her a genius. I was placing my screwdriver back into my toolbox when a force hit me from behind. She was giving me a hug.

"Thank you," she says, the words muffled through the back of my shirt. I smile, turning so I face her.

"You're welcome."

She takes her arms away and walks off with a smile on her face, probably to oil the newly fixed screw. I figured she wouldn't come back for a while and so I head to the balcony for the smoke. Nicotine affected her system, so she never let me smoke in the house.

I have work tomorrow, and the next, and the day after. Even if I don't, I can't spend more time with her. Her battery took a long time to charge, and lasted for only a while. She was awake for about two hours a day, and spent the rest of the time sleeping. Sometimes she'd just faint from low power and I'd find her somewhere in the house, slumped over a sofa, or in one instance, over a burning flame on the stove. In those instances I'd have to carry her to her charger and I'd just sit there, watching her sleep.

We'd spend the two hours a day that she was awake doing whatever; making love, watching TV. She adjusted her body clock so she'd be awake at night, when I was around. She never left my side and I never wanted her to either. I'd get off my waiter job at 6, grab dinner, and then arrive home right before she got up. Sometimes she cooked for me. She wasn't particularly brilliant, but she memorized things well. She knew all my mother's recipes by heart, even though she didn't have one. I finish my cigarette and hear the glass door behind me open. She pokes her head outside.

"May I go out?" she asks.

"No," I say.

"Okay," she feigns sadness and disappears back inside. I throw my cigarette over the edge and go in to grab her by the waist before she can get too far. Her frame is made from aluminum so she isn't particularly heavy. I heave her onto my shoulder and carry her outside, setting her down on the railing. I hold her by the waist so she won't fall, but I wasn't afraid of her falling. One thing about dating machines, they can't die. She'd be here long after I was gone.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

"How I'll never have to worry about losing you," I say. She wraps her hard arms around my neck to keep her balance.

"You mean dying?"

I nod.

"I could die, if you forget to charge me long enough," she says. I shake my head. I won't let her die, ever. I'd kill myself if she died because of me. She removes her arms from around my neck and leans backwards, towards the darkness below. My hands shoot behind her. My eyes widen and the hairs on my skin stand up at the prospect of her falling.

I was afraid.

She laughs playfully. I lift her off the railing and set her down onto the ground beside me, where she leans into me, playing with a hole in my t-shirt.

"Would you love me, even if I were a real girl?" she asks.

"No," I say. I'm not being serious, and neither is she. She'd just been worried I'd leave her for a real girl this afternoon.

"Well too bad for you. I'd go find a robot guy," she says, beginning to giggle, "Who can actually vibrate. Not like you."

"What?" I ask, looking at her incredulously. She laughs harder, burying her face in my chest. I think I can feel her breathing. For a second it feels like neither of us are human, or anything for that matter. We're just like things in a giant world that feels so big right now. The night sky is vast and endless. It stretches as far as we want it to. She sees me looking out into the night and shifts her gaze to where mine is.

"Have you ever wondered what's on the other side?" she asks.

"Could be nothing," I reply, "could be just people."

"Could be people wondering what's on this side," she replies, resuming her giggling. I shake my head at her nonsense, but I'm amused too. Her illogical reply is logical.

"I'm tired," she whispers, as soon as her giggling fit is over. I can feel her body slumping against mine as her battery life runs lower. She has 2, maybe 3 minutes left. I always thought that this was what it felt like when someone you love died in your arms. I scoop her up; reentering the place we called ours.

Her eyes were closing now. I set her half-limp body on the sofa, face down, and lift the back of her shirt up to remove her battery pack.

"Goodnight Joe," she whispers.

"Night, Princess," I say back to her, waiting for her to fall into a peaceful slumber before sliding it out. I bring it to the charger to fix it there. I'll replace it after coming back from work tomorrow and she'll wake up, and we'll do it all over again.


End file.
